


Trust Is A Knife

by flawedamythyst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Knifeplay, M/M, Trust Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-16
Updated: 2009-01-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Written for Blindfold_SPN.





	

If Dean hadn't handed Sam the knife, his eyes dark and serious as he lay back, naked on the bed, Sam would never have even thought of it. They'd played with this a few times before Dean went to Hell, sure, but even without Dean's tearful roadside confession there was no way Sam could have initiated this. He'd have been too scared of reawakening dormant memories, or that's what he'd have told himself. 

The real truth is darker - for this to work, Dean has to trust him completely, has to be a hundred percent sure that Sam would never hurt him. Sam never thought that would be something he'd doubt, but he can still see the look of horror on Dean's face, and the tone of distaste in his voice.

_If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you._

The knife is heavy in his hand, and Dean's still watching him, waiting, looking oddly vulnerable, as if he was the one doubting his brother's trust in him. Sam can't leave him like that and climbs onto the bed, straddling his hips and bending down to kiss the look off his face.

"You sure?" he asks.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Want a permission slip?" he asks, but there's a thin note of trepidation in his voice and Sam has to swallow down his fear that Dean's going to flinch away from him, make him feel like the demonic pariah that the angels seem to think he is.

He can't say no to Dean, though, not when he's all spread out, naked beneath Sam, his newly-scarless chest like a blank canvas. Sam tells himself he'll go slow, and gently places the point of the knife in the exact centre of Dean's chest.

Dean exhales and settles back against the bed and Sam feels something inside himself relax at the same time. He draws the knife up Dean's breastbone - not hard enough to cut, but hard enough to leave a mark. His hand shakes slightly when he gets to the hollow of Dean's throat, but Dean just puts his head back, allowing Sam better access.

Sam's been hard since Dean handed him the knife, and his cock twitches at that simple display of trust. Dean's hard as well, and Sam drags the knife back down his body, pausing to circle the skin around his nipples, until the knife's passing through Dean's pubic hair.

He lays the flat of the blade against the underside of Dean's cock and slides it up to the tip. Dean gasps, and Sam glances up at his face to see his eyes fall shut with pleasure.

That's enough going slow, he decides abruptly, and leans forward, draping himself over Dean so that he can lick across his collarbone, mark out in his spit where the cut will go. Dean's hips twitch at the feel of Sam's tongue, and Sam slides his thigh between Dean's legs to give him something to rub against. He slides the knife gently back and forth across Dean's skin, building the anticipation in them both, before setting the edge firmly against the dip of Dean's collarbone.

When he finally draws the knife across, taking it slow and firm, watching the blood well up bright crimson against Dean's pale skin, Dean groans deep in his throat. He thrusts up again, his erection hard and heavy against Sam's thigh, and the movement jogs Sam's hand, ruining his careful line. He can't bring himself to mind though, just watches the blood spill down Dean's chest until he can't bear it any more and has to taste.

He licks up the blood staining Dean's skin first, then runs his tongue carefully along the line of the cut, letting the coppery taste of Dean's blood flood his mouth, warm and so alive. He lets his tongue slip into the cut, inside Dean, for a moment and Dean makes another choked noise. Sam can't tell if it's pain or pleasure and he pulls back to look at his brother's face.

Dean's eyes fly open as soon as he registers that Sam has moved away, and Sam can't catch his breath when their eyes meet. Dean's gaze is so full of heavy, hot want that for a moment Sam feels like he's suffocating under it.

"Sammy," he breathes, and Sam kisses him hard. Dean wraps an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls himself close, tongue delving deep into Sam's mouth as if he's trying to search out every drop of his blood. Sam can't stop himself from pressing his own erection down against Dean's hip, rubbing at him frantically.

The knife's still in his hand, the tip red with blood, and he pulls back from the kiss so that he can hold it to Dean's mouth. Dean licks his blood off it without hesitation, tongue lingering on the edge as if he wants to slice it open too. It's too much for Sam, and he drops the knife to the bed so that he can concentrate on finding the right rhythm for their desperate thrusts against each other.

Dean comes first but Sam's only a couple of hard thrusts behind him, and when he drops his head down onto Dean's shoulder the cut is right there, under his mouth like some kind of sign. He licks at the blood still sluggishly flowing from it, and Dean makes a noise like it's all too much and not enough at the same time, so Sam relents and leaves it alone.

He thinks he should probably get a cloth to clean off with, and maybe the med kit, but first he's going to lie there, all tangled up with Dean, tasting his brother's blood on his lips, and just breathe in the fact that he's back, and alive, and still trusts Sam in ways he never would anyone else.


End file.
